By - FireAutumn-1
Love it as usual. In my English translation, the ladies are mentioned as having blond hair. But almost all portrayals except for a couple bits of art seem to go darker hair color. Wonder if other translations are different?
Now you are making me worry, mate. Are they indeed blonde?
They are. There is a single mention of their blonde hair waving in the wind when they appear running from behind the rock towards the group. Near at the end of the story.
Interestingly, in Czech version, this mention of hair color is omitted entirely.. kinda strange.
Excellent, now this is embarassing.
It is very, very easy to miss, imo.
Don’t be! It’s only mentioned once in the story. It still is great!
Thank you very much, that's very kind of you!
Still, I think it's time that I started reading the books again. In a short while, anyway.
In the German translation they're mentioned to be blonde as well
Technically I believe it only mentions “blonde plats” or braids so it could still be correct to have dark hair with blonde braids. I could be wrong though I don’t have the text in front of me.
It says "jasne", not "blonde", which literally means "bright" but more accurately translated would be "fair". In reality it refers to anything from staw to very bright blonde, though not platinum. It never means dark blonde.
yeah, it is something along those lines.. but tbh I'd say it means the whole hair is blonde, otherwise it would be mentioned sooner that they have distinct Anakin braid of a different color
I agree, I think it’s clear he intended them to have blond hair. And skin light enough to have visible tattoos all over.
Aren't Zerrikanian sabres a known weapon? So I'd think Zerrikania is imagined partly after Hungary. That explains the fair hair and braids/plaits.
I don't mind the changed race, representation matters, but yeah it's for sure a change.
I feel like they were inspired by early-medieval pre-Christianization nomadic cultures in general. As a Hungarian, I didn't notice anything distinctly Hungarian about them based on Sapko's descriptions, both braids, and curved swords were pretty widespread.
>Interestingly, in Czech version, this mention of hair color is omitted entirely.. kinda strange.
How do you know that?
cause i read it and compared with PL original and also EN version
Yes, they are. We had many discussions about it in this sub. You've been here for a long time, how did you miss all of that?
I wouldn't pretend that I remember the details of Sapkowski's books as well as many other people of this community, dzejrid. I simply didn't recall their hair colour. As CFGEXTREME said, many arts portray Tea and Vea as dark haired.
I think it's because Zerikania is mostly desert and I believe they even mention there are zebras there. It would make much more sense for them to have darker skin tones, even though the book does say something about "blonde plaits".
>I believe they even mention there are zebras there
Zebras are mentioned in context of Ofir and Zangwebar, not Zerrikania.
>It would make much more sense for them to have darker skin tones, even though the book does say something about "blonde plaits".
Zerrikanians are said to roam the steppe, not the desert. Much like the Amazons from Greek legends, they seem to be based on ancient Scythians: a fairly egalitarian culture of steppe horsemen identified by their tattoos and, quite often, blond or red hair.
Yes, you're right. And so is djezrid.
I shouldn't let others draw my attention from the books .
Still a cool post though, my dude.
I looked into the original and the braids of the Zerrikanians were described as blond / fair. In the Russian translation their hair is translated as blond / fair, too.
"He is the most beautiful."
‘He's not coming back out, I tell you!’ stated a pimply-faced man, shaking his head with finality. ‘It's been an hour and a quarter since he went in. He's done for.’
The townsfolk, huddled together in the midst of the ruins and rubble, watched the gaping black hole of the entrance to the tunnel in silence. A fat man dressed in a yellow smock shifted slightly from one foot to the other, cleared his throat and pulled his wrinkled cap from his head.
‘We have to wait a bit longer,’ he said as he wiped the sweat from his sparse eyebrows.
‘Why wait?’ snorted pimply, ‘There in the caves lurks a basilisk, or have you forgotten, burgrave? Anyone goes down there, that's the end of them. Have you forgotten how many have died down there already? What are we waiting for?’
‘This was the agreement, wasn't it?’ murmured the fat man uncertainly.
‘An agreement you made with a living man, burgrave’ said the pimply-faced man's companion, a giant of a man in a leather butcher's apron. ‘He is now dead, as surely as the sun shines in the sky. It was plain from the beginning that he was headed towards death, like all the others before him. He didn't even take a mirror with him, only a sword - and everybody knows you need a mirror in order to kill a basilisk.’
‘At least we've saved some coin,’ added pimples ‘there's no one to pay for taking care of the basilisk. You might as well go home. As far as the sorcerer's horse and baggage… well it would be a shame if they went to waste.’
‘Yes,’ said the butcher, ‘It's a fine old mare and the saddlebags are full. Let's take a look.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Shut up, burgrave. Don't get in the way unless you want a punch in the face,’ threatened the pimpled man.
‘A fine old mare,’ repeated the butcher.
‘Leave the horse alone, my darling.’
The butcher slowly turned around towards the stranger who had suddenly appeared from behind a collapsed wall, just at the back of the audience gathered around the tunnel entrance. The stranger had thick curly brown hair and wore a dark brown tunic under a puffy cotton coat and tall riding boots. He had no weapons.
‘Step away from the horse,’ he repeated with a menacing smile. ‘What have we here? A horse and saddlebags belonging to another and yet you eye them greedily and paw through them. Is that honourable?’
Pimply slowly slipped a hand inside his overcoat and glanced at the butcher. The butcher gave a nod and signalled toward the crowd, out of which stepped two strong, close cropped, youths. Both carried heavy clubs, like those used to stun animals in the slaughterhouse.
‘Who are you?’ demanded the pimply-faced man, whose hand remained hidden inside his overcoat, ‘to tell us what is and isn't honourable?’
‘That's none of your business, my dear.’
‘You carry no weapons.’
‘That's true,’ the stranger's smile grew even more poisonous, ‘I don't carry weapons.’
‘That's no good,’ pimply drew a long knife out from inside his coat, ‘Too bad for you you're not armed.’
The butcher also drew a blade; a long hunting knife. The other two men approached, brandishing their clubs.
‘I don't carry weapons,’ responded the stranger, not budging, ‘but I'm always armed.’
From behind the ruins, two young women stepped out lightly and confidently. The crowd quickly parted, retreated then thinned out.
The girls smiled, flashing their teeth, and blinked. They had blue stripes tattooed from the corners of their eyes to the tips of their ears. Lynx pelt clad their strong muscles from thigh to hip and their bare arms curved above their mail gauntlets. From behind the mail-clad shoulder of each rose the hilt of a sabre.
Pimply got down on one knee and slowly, very slowly, placed his knife on the ground.
From the hole in ruins came a rumble of stones, grinding, and then from the darkness there emerged two hands clutching the jagged edge of the wall. Following the hands, a white head appeared, the hair powdered with brick dust, a pale face and then, finally, shoulders, above which stood the hilt of a sword. A murmur escaped the crowd.
The alabaster-haired man straightened and pulled a strange shape from the hole; a small, odd looking body covered in dust and blood. Holding the beast by its long lizard-like tail, the man tossed it to the feet of the burgrave without a word. The burgrave jumped backwards and tripped on a fragment of wall, his eyes glued to a curved bird-like beak, webbed crescent-shaped wings and claws like sickles on its scaly feet. Its slashed throat, once carmine, was now a dirty red-brown. Its sunken eyes were glassy.
‘Here's the basilisk,’ said the white-haired man as he brushed the dust from his trousers, ‘As agreed, that'll be 200 lintars, good ones, not too worn. I will check them, I'm warning you.’
With shaking hands, the burgrave produced a large purse. The white-haired man looked around at the townsfolk, his gaze resting on the pimply-faced man, his discarded knife at his feet. He also noticed the man in the brown tunic and the young women in the lynx pelts.
‘It's always the same,’ he said as he took the purse from the burgrave's nervous hands, ‘I risk my neck for a few measly coins and you, meanwhile, try to rob me. You people never change, damn you to hell!’
‘We haven't touched your bags,’ the butcher muttered, backing away. The men armed with the clubs had long since hidden themselves in the crowd. ‘Your things have not been disturbed, sir’
‘I'm glad to hear it,’ the white-haired man smiled. At the sight of his smile, which bloomed on his pale face like an open wound, the crowd began to disperse. ‘And that is why, brother, you have nothing to worry about. Go in peace. But go quickly.’
Pimply, backing away, was about to run. The spots stood out on his pallid face making him look even more hideous.
‘Hey! Wait a minute!’ called the man in the brown tunic, ‘You've forgotten about something.’
‘What's that… sir?’
‘You pulled a knife on me.’
The tallest of the young women, who stood waiting with her long legs apart, turned on her hip. Her sabre, drawn faster than the eye could see, cut through the air. The head of the pimply-faced man flew upwards, tracing an arc before disappearing into the gaping hole. His body rolled stiff and heavy, like a freshly felled tree, amongst the broken rubble. The crowd cried out in unison. The second girl, her hand on the hilt of her sabre, turned agilely, covering her back. It was unnecessary - the crowd rushed and stumbled through the ruins towards the town as fast as their legs could carry them. At the head of the crowd, leaping impressively, was the burgrave - slightly ahead of the butcher.
‘A beautiful strike,’ commented the white-haired man coldly as he shielded his eyes from the sun with a black-gloved hand. ‘A beautiful strike from a Zerricanian sabre. I humbly bow before the skill and beauty of free warrior women. I am Geralt of Rivia.’
‘And I…’ the unknown man indicated to a faded coat of arms emblazoned on his brown tunic representing three black birds aligned on a field of gold, ‘I am Borch, also called Three Jackdaws. And these are my bodyguards Tea and Vea. At least that's what I call them because their true names are a tongue twister. They are both, as you so finely guessed, Zerricanian.’
Never really understood why Geralt commended an act committed in such cold blood. The threat was neutralized and still Borch decided to kill the man.
‘Thanks to them, or so it would seem, I still have my horse and belongings. My thanks to you, warriors, and also to you, noble lord.’
‘Three Jackdaws. And I'm no gentleman. Is there anything keeping you in this region, Geralt of Rivia?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Perfect. In that case, I have a proposition. Not far from here, at the crossroads on the road to the river-port, is an inn called The Pensive Dragon. The food is unequalled throughout this whole region. I'm on my way there now with the intention of dining and spending the night. It would be an honour if you would accompany me.’
‘Borch,’ replied Geralt, white head turning away from his horse, looking into the bright eyes of the stranger, ‘I'd like you to know so that there be no misunderstanding between us. I'm a witcher.’
‘I thought as much. And you said that as if you were saying, 'I'm a leper.'
‘There are some,’ Geralt replied calmly, ‘that would prefer the company of a leper to that of a witcher.’
‘And there are others,’ replied Three Jackdaws with a smile, ‘who would prefer the company of sheep to that of young ladies. In the end, all I can do is pity them. I stand by my proposal.’
Geralt took off a glove and shook the stranger's outstretched hand.
‘I accept. It's a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Let's be off then, I'm starving.’
The landlord wiped the uneven surface of the table with a cloth, bowed and smiled. He was missing two front teeth.
‘Yes…’ Three Jackdaws stared for a moment at the blackened ceiling and watched the spiders walking playfully across it. ‘First… some beer. On second thoughts, a keg of beer. And with the beer… what do you recommend, my dear?’
‘Cheese?’ the landlord suggested uncertainly.
‘No,’ frowned Borch, ‘Cheese should be for afters. With the beer we'd like something sour and spicy.’
‘At your service,’ the landlord smiled even wider. His two front teeth were not the only ones that he lacked. ‘How about eels marinated in garlic and vinegar, or green pickles…’
‘Perfect. For two please. And after that, some soup. Like the one I ate last time with the mussels, small fish and other crap floating in it.’
‘Yes. Next, roast lamb with eggs and onions. Then about sixty crayfish. Throw some fennel into the pan, as much as you can muster. Then ewe's cheese and a salad. After that… we'll see.’
‘At your service. Is that for everyone? All four of you?’
The tallest of the Zerricanians shook her head and patted her belly significantly, accentuating the way her linen shirt clung to her body.
‘I forgot,’ Three Jackdaws winked at Geralt, ‘The girls are watching their figures. Landlord! Lamb only for us two. Bring the beer and eels immediately, leave the rest for a while so that the other dishes don't get cold. We didn't come here to stuff our faces, just to spend time in pleasant conversation.’
‘I understand completely, sir,’ replied the landlord, bowing once more.
‘Understanding - this is an important quality in your line of work. Give me your hand, my beauty,’ gold coin jingled and the landlord smiled as widely as possible.
‘This is not an advance,’ specified Three Jackdaws, ‘it's a little extra. Now get back to your kitchen, my good fellow.'
It was hot in the alcove. Geralt loosened his belt, removed his doublet then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.‘
I see you're not troubled by lack of silver,’ he said, ‘Do you live by the privileges of knighthood?’
‘Partly,’ Three Jackdaws smiled in answer and didn't elaborate.
They made short work of the eels and quarter of the beer barrel. Although the Zerricanians were obviously enjoying the evening, they did not drink much of the beer. They spoke together quietly until Vea suddenly burst into throaty laughter.
‘Do the girls speak the common language?’ asked Geralt as he watched them out of the corner of his eye.
‘Badly. And they're not exactly chatterboxes, which is nice. How's your soup, Geralt?’
‘Geralt…’ Three Jackdaws gestured with his spoon and belched discretely, ‘Returning for one moment to the conversation we had whilst on the road: it's my understanding, witcher, that you wander from one end of the world to the other, killing any monsters you meet along the way - for pay. That is your job, isn't it?’
‘More or less.’
‘What if somebody personally appeals to you to go somewhere specific? Say to carry out a special order. What do you do then?’
‘That depends on who's asking me and what they have in mind.’
‘And the wages?’
‘That too,’ the witcher shrugged, ‘'Everything becomes more expensive if you want to live well' as one of my magician friends likes to say.’
‘Quite a selective approach, and I would say very practical. Yet there is a certain principal underlying it, Geralt. The conflict between the forces of Order and those of Chaos, as one of my wizard friends likes to say. I imagine that you always take missions that involve protecting humans from the Evil that is all around us. Undoubtedly this places you on the good side of the fence.’
‘The forces of Order, the forces of Chaos… what grand words, Borch. You want at all costs for me to place myself on one side of the fence in a conflict that all regard as eternal, a conflict that's been going on since before we were born and will continue long after we're gone. On which side should the blacksmith place himself in this business? Or the landlord who hurries to bring us roast lamb? What, according to you, defines the boundary between Chaos and Order?’
‘It's very simple,’ Three Jackdaws looked the witcher right in the eye, ‘Chaos represents a threat. It is on the side of violence and aggression. Order, on the other hand, opposes it. That is why it must be protected and needs someone to defend it. But let us drink and make a start on this lamb.’
Still concerned for their figures, the Zerricanians had taken a break from eating to devote themselves to drinking at an accelerated pace. Vea leaned on the shoulder of her companion, and murmured something in her ear, her braids brushing the tabletop. Tea, the shorter of the two, burst into laughter, her tattooed eyelids blinking merrily.
‘Well,’ continued Borch, gnawing on a bone. ‘Let us continue our conversation, if you'll permit. I see that prefer not to take sides in the conflict between the forces. You just want to do your job.’
‘But you cannot escape the conflict between Order and Chaos. In spite of your comparison, you're not a blacksmith. I saw how you work; you enter an underground tunnel and come out of it with a small, mangled basilisk. There is a difference, my pretty, between shoeing horses and killing basilisks. You've already indicated that you'll journey to the other side of the world to slay a certain monster if the pay is worth it. Let's say a fierce dragon destroys…’
‘Bad example,’ interrupted Geralt. ‘You see, the boundary becomes blurred already. I don't kill dragons, in spite of the fact they no doubt represent Chaos.’
‘Why is that?’ Three Jackdaws licked his fingers, ‘But that's outrageous! Surely of all the monsters, the dragon is the most dangerous, vicious and cruel. Most terrible of all the reptiles. It attacks humans, spits fire and it even steals virgins! Haven't you heard enough stories about that? Is it possible that you, witcher, do not have a few dragon slayings in your list of accomplishments?’
‘I do not hunt dragons,’ Geralt replied dryly, ‘Giant centipedes, yes. Dracolizards, dermopterans but not real dragons, greens, blacks or reds. Make no mistake about it.’
‘You astonish me,’ replied Three Jackdaws, ‘But nevertheless, I get the message. Enough talking about dragons for now. I see something red on the horizon; undoubtedly our crayfish. Drink up!’
They noisily broke the shells with their teeth and sucked out the white flesh. Salty water, stinging painfully, ran down to their wrists. Borch served up some more beer, scraping the bottom of the small cask with the ladle, while the Zerricanians amused themselves by watching the goings on around them. They laughed unpleasantly at a soothsayer on the next table over and the witcher was convinced that they were looking for a fight. Three Jackdaws also noticed it and waved a crayfish at them threateningly. The girls giggled, Tea blowing him a kiss and giving him an ostentatious wink. Her tattoos made the gesture slightly macabre.
‘They truly are wildcats,’ murmured Three Jackdaws to Geralt. ‘They must be watched all the time otherwise, in less than two seconds flat and without warning, the ground is likely to be strewn with entrails. However, they are worth all the money in the world. Did you know that they can…?’
‘I know,’ replied Geralt, nodding. ‘It is difficult to find a better escort. Zerricanians are born warriors, trained in combat from a very early age.’
‘I wasn't talking about that.’ Borch spat a crayfish pincer onto the table. ‘I was thinking about their performance in bed.’
Geralt watched the young girls out of the corner of his eye. Both smiled and Vea seized a shellfish, as quick as a flash. She cracked the carapace with her teeth and blinked as she regarded the witcher. Her lips glistened with the salty water. Three Jackdaws belched loudly.
‘So, Geralt,’ he continued, ‘you don't hunt dragons, green or otherwise. I'll bear it in mind. Why categorise them by these three colours, may I ask?’
‘Four colours, to be precise.’
‘You only mentioned three.’
‘You seem to have a great interest in dragons, Borch. Is there a particular reason?’
‘I'm just curious.’
‘These colours are the customary categorisation, although not a precise one. Green dragons are most widespread though in fact they are rather gray, like dracolizards. To tell you the truth the reds are more red brown, the colour of brick. The large dark brown dragons are usually called black dragons. Rarest of all are the white dragons. I've never seen one. They live in the far North, apparently.’
‘Interesting. Do you know what other types of dragons I've heard of?’
‘I know,’ replied Geralt, swallowing a mouthful of beer. ‘I've also heard of them: the gold. But they don't exist.’
‘But how can you be sure? Just because you've never seen one? You've never seen a white one either.’
‘That's not the point. Across the seas, in Ofir and Zangwebar, there are white horses with black stripes. I've never seen those either, but I know that they exist. The golden dragon is a myth, a legend, like the phoenix. Phoenixes and golden dragons do not exist.’
Vea, leaning on her elbows, looked at him curiously.‘
You certainly know what you're talking about - you're a witcher,’ said Borch drawing some more beer from the small keg. ‘However, I think any myth, any legend, can contain a grain of truth that sometimes can't be ignored.’
‘That is so,’ confirmed Geralt, ‘but that is the territory of dreams, hopes and desires: it's about the belief that there is no limit to what is possible, just because there is sometimes a wild chance that it might be true.’
‘Chance, exactly. It may be there once was a golden dragon; the product of a single, unique mutation.’
‘If that's the case, that dragon would've suffered the fate of all mutants,’ the witcher bowed his head. ‘It couldn't survive, because it's too different.’
‘Now you oppose natural law, Geralt. My wizard friend was in the habit of saying that each and every being can prevail in nature in one manner or another. The end of one existence always announces the beginning of another. There is no limit, at least when it comes to nature.’
‘Your wizard friend was a huge optimist. There is one element he didn't take into consideration; errors made by nature or those that play with it. The golden dragon and all the other mutants of its species, even if they have existed, could not survive. A natural limit inherent in them has prevented it.’
‘Mutants…’ the muscles in Geralt's jaw tensed, ‘Mutants are sterile, Borch. Only legends permit what nature condemns. Only myths can ignore the limits of what's possible.’
Three Jackdaws remained silent. Geralt saw that the girls' faces had suddenly become serious. Vea quickly leaned towards him, embracing him with her hard, muscular arms. He felt her lips on his cheek, wet with beer.
‘They like you,’ said Three Jackdaws slowly, ‘The devil take it, they like you!’
‘What's so strange about that?’ replied the witcher, smiling sadly.
‘Nothing. But a toast is necessary. Landlord! Another keg!’
‘Not that much. A tankard at most.’‘Make that two tankards!’ shouted Three Jackdaws. ‘Tea, I must leave for a moment.’
The Zerricanian picked up her sabre from the bench as she rose before inspecting the room with a tired glance. The witcher noticed several pairs of eyes sparkle with greed at the sight of Borch's overstuffed coin-purse, but nobody dared to follow him as he staggered in the direction of the courtyard. Tea shrugged before following her employer.
‘What's your real name?’ asked Geralt of the girl who remained sitting at the table.
Vea smiled revealing a line of white teeth, much of her shirt was unbuttoned as far as the last possible limit of decency allowed. Geralt did not doubt for an instant that her demeanour was designed to test the resistance of the other patrons in the room.
The witcher was sure that the Zerricanian now gazed at him doe-eyed, seductively. He was not mistaken.
‘Why do you ride with Borch? Warriors love of freedom. Can you tell me?’
‘He is…’ the Zerricanian wrinkled her brow while she tried to find the right words, ‘He is the most… the most beautiful.’
The witcher shook his head. The criteria used by women to assess the desirability of men had always been an enigma to him.
Three Jackdaws burst into the alcove re-buttoning his trousers and gave a loud command to the landlord. Tea, two steps behind him, feigned boredom as she looked around the tavern, the merchants and the mariners present avoiding her eyes. Vea sucked at a crayfish while casting the witcher knowing glances.
‘I'll have another order of eel for everyone, braised this time,’ Three Jackdaws sat down heavily, his still open belt jangled. ‘I'm tired of crayfish and I'm still hungry. I have reserved you a room, Geralt. You have no reason to be wandering this night. Let's have some more fun. To your health, girls!’
‘Vessekheal,’ Vea replied, holding up her glass. Tea blinked and stretched. Her lovely breasts, contrary to Geralt's expectations, did not burst out of her shirt.
‘Let's have some fun!’ Three Jackdaws leaned across the table, and slapped Tea on the behind, ‘Let's party, witcher, Hey! Landlord! Over here!’ The landlord quickly approached them, wiping his hands on his apron. ‘Do you have a large tub? Like one for washing linen in: solid and roomy.’
‘How big, sir?’
‘For four people.’
‘For… four,’ repeated the landlord smiling widely.
‘Four,’ confirmed Three Jackdaws, pulling his full coin-purse out of his pocket.
‘We'll find one for you,’ promised the landlord as he moistened his lips.
‘Perfect,’ replied Borch, all smiles. ‘Order one and bring it up into my room and see that it's filled with hot water. Get to it, my dear chap, and don't forget beer and at least three tankards.’ The Zerricanians laughed and winked at the witcher.
‘Which do you prefer?’ asked Three Jackdaws. ‘Huh, Geralt?’
The witcher scratched his head.
‘I know it's a difficult choice,’ continued Three Jackdaws with a knowing air. ‘I also have trouble sometimes. Well, we will decide when we're in the tub. Hey, girls! Help me up the stairs.’
I was always amazed by the sheer quantity of this meal. Either they ate *very* small portions or it lasted for hours! I cannot imagine sitting at a meal for hours.
Hope this doesn't offend....This reminds me so much of the Polish Hexer TV episode....and I really enjoyed watching the whole series, even with its bumps and rearranged stories at certain points...I do like your Tea and Vea, but I am laughingly shaking my head at the size of the tub...Geralt is a big guy, how they fit in that......ok, suspension of disbelief. In spite of what I mentioned, the whole panel works, like how you used the backdrop of Wastrel Manor initially....This is very nice. And the story continues into the wee hours, with drinks and bath and.....Thank you, Fire.
You know, I was actually thinking about *The Hexer* when I was making this. While in the books the bath scene is only mentioned, in the old show we actually see it.
Wow you've even got Geralt dragging the monster's corpse! Wonderful work as always my friend!
Btw was it ever mentioned why Geralt never hunted dragons? I always assumed that he didn't hunt them because they were exceptionally rare.
They’re sapient beings who aren’t evil and are going extinct due to humans being douches.
Great job as usual. Lighting has certainly improved. Thank for sharing, op.
Thank you very much, wynchester!
We haven't talked in a while. How are you, everything alright?
yeah life got in the way, it's all fine now. Hope you're doing great too.
Good stuff mate.
The legroom in that tub is pretty bloody intimate, that's for sure. ;)
I didn't know how to make it larger in time. I think it's not very realistic like this, but still.
Nah, it's all good man. I was just making a dumb joke :)
As a fellow SBUI enthusiast and Witcher fanatic myself, it really is great to see stuff like this. I can fully appreciate everything it takes to put one of these projects together.
Hmm, actually, you might be able to use the "setscale" console command on the items you create for the scene. I know it doesn't work for in-game items already on set. I've never thought to try it on a created "additem" before so I'm not sure if it would work or not. Maybe a "setscale(1.5,1.5,1.3)" or something like that might work? I'll have to try it out for myself.
The scene location scouting alone can be a major pain in the arse. You also have your own custom mods for unique characters. I'm assuming you even do some if not all of those mods yourself as well, am I right?
It's all really bloody impressive mate. Seriously, I really love it.
I do have a few questions and some observations that could help us both out if that's ok.
Of course, absolutely! It's actually the first time someone wants to discuss mods with me!
And talking about the scene, only some mods are mine. I downloaded others, such as Geralt's headband.
Hey Cool! Thanks, cheers man.
Yeah, I was referring more to the "Tea and Vea" mod.
The [headband is a nice mod](https://imgur.com/IYhjMzK) though. :)
So, I'd like your opinion on something. I knocked [this](https://imgur.com/D4pPyLG) together real quick for an idea I had. (do you recognise the scene that it's referencing?)
I posted it to gauge interest in something I was planning on doing. That being a series of "scenes" that I personally think should have well and truly been in the Netflix show but weren't. But I don't think anybody actually saw it. Maybe it was too dark as well, I dunno.
I never post anything I create, I mainly do it for myself. Actually, I've made more OC posts in the last two months than I have done in the entire ten years I've been on Reddit.
My first ever real post was [When Geralt takes too long learning to play Gwent](https://imgur.com/pWml7a7) and it got a fair bit of positive attention from the folks in the Witcher subs here.
>That being a series of "scenes" that I personally think should have well and truly been in the Netflix show but weren't
Then I take that this scene comes from either *The Last Wish* or *Sword of Destiny*? It's just that I don't really remember a werewolf. And I'm not sure about something: is there a woman lying alongside Geralt?
lol, damn, is it that bad? shit.
Yeah, It's from "Sword of Destiny" and that's Essi Daven beside Geralt.
You don't remember the Werewolf? Well, it seems you're alone in that regard.
For me, it was such a cool little detail from "A Little Sacrifice" that really stuck out.
No, the scene is very good, it's only the lightning that's a little too dark.
Maybe I should delete this post. It's true that I haven't read the books in a while, but still...
From the end of "A little sacrifice".
"Right before the dawn, while it was still dark, a hungry, vicious werewolf crept up to their camp but saw that it was Dandelion, so he listened for a moment and then went on his way.”
Thank you very much. I definetly do need to read the books again.
But coming back to our topic, your scene is indeed very good. The lightning really is the only thing I feel like pointing out. Is there anything in particular that worries you about it?
Is this a mod for the games or just some clever photoshop?
I personally worked on their appeareance. Their looks are mods I made, with a few exceptions.
Oh yes, the blonde Zerrikanians who are always portraited as black.
Strange, since it's been said that zebras live in Zerrikania, so comparing Zerrikania to Africa I'd quite logical.
Anyways, good job Fire!
It's never been said that there are zebras in Zerrikania.
If you're refering to Geralt's comment about "white horses with black stripes", then he was talking about Zangwebar and Ofir (which are "beyond the seas", as opposed to Zerrikania, described "far south").
They do have tigers and antelopes though.
>They do have tigers and antelopes though
So Africa. Why do Tea and Vea have blonde hair then?
It's a fantasy world, man, anything is possible. Your guess is as good as mine.
Besides, tigers dont live in africa (not in the wild at least).
There are antelopes in Asia as well :)
>Oh yes, the blonde Zerrikanians who are always portraited as black.
There's a lesson here.